


Transitive Property

by the_ragnarok



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chastity Device, Come Eating, Cuckolding, F/M, Kinda, M/M, Master/Pet, Multi, Oblique mention of ptsd, Praise Kink, Threesome - F/M/M, sub sharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 08:43:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5410385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm bringing him home," Grace says over the phone.</p>
<p>John blinks. "So the date went well?" He looks down at himself. "Should I change clothes?" Or, more accurately, put some on.</p>
<p>"Nope," Grace says cheerfully. "He'll want a look at the goods."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transitive Property

**Author's Note:**

> My eternal thanks to talkingtothesky for beta, and to violentdaylight for handholding as I was writing this, and to immoral_crow for picking this story idea. <3

John lounges on the couch and watches Grace get ready for her date. She's going for the ornamented look, big earrings and big necklace. 

Her date is supposed to be a museum docent, which means good chances of art snobbery, in which case Grace will quietly horrify him: then she'll come home and let John mock him for her, and - depending how the date goes - eat his come out of her.

At the thought, John's cock throbs pleasantly in its cage. He reaches down to stroke it gently, moving his finger over a bit of skin left exposed. He likes the ache when he tries and fails to get hard, likes the feeling of his own skin - and, not to be too prosaic, likes touching his own cock as much as he can. 

Grace lightly slaps his hand. "You need better discipline," she says, like she always does, but she's smiling.

"I need more cuddles," John counters, climbing in her lap because he can. They don't do straight up pet play, but sometimes John likes thinking of himself as a dog. An old, vicious pitbull who found some hands too precious to bite, who's too big to be lap dog but doesn't let that bother him.

Grace kisses him, pets his neck and his head until John melts against her. "I have to go," she says.

"Do you really?" He turns the puppy eyes on because it makes her laugh, goes along with the way she playfully shoves him to the side. She kisses his forehead and tells him to go in his crate. 

All right, maybe they do a little bit of pet play. Whatever. John likes his crate. He naps easily in there, feels safe, like he's good just for existing in the place he is.

~~

It's been three hours and Grace isn't home yet.

That doesn't mean much. She and the docent may have just hit it off better than expected. She might be having a good time.

The paranoid part of John rolls a list of any awful thing that can happen to a woman on the streets of New York. John grits his teeth and tries not to listen. The crate helps: knowing that Grace wants him in there keeps John from going out looking for her.

It's a little inconvenient that he left his phone outside the crate. When it starts ringing, John has to battle a moment of disorientation.

But odds are it's Grace ringing, and even if she isn't, she'd want him to pick up. Grace never punishes him for... well, anything, really. She's not going to start because he picked up the damned phone.

It is her, and John breathes a little easier just seeing her name on the display. "Hey," she says. "I'm bringing him home."

John blinks. "So the date went well?" He looks down at himself. "Should I change clothes?" Or, more accurately, put some on.

"Nope," Grace says cheerfully. "He'll want a look at the goods."

John's heartbeat picks up a notch. "Sure thing," he says. "You'll be home soon?"

"Five minutes." Grace's voice slips into the reassuring tones she uses for aftercare. "On the clock. Promise."

It's been a while since Grace met somebody she liked enough to have more than a quick fuck with them, let alone enough to share John. He wonders how much she told the guy.

Whatever it was, by his startled inhale when Grace lets him in, it wasn't everything. 

"Hello." John rises smoothly from the couch and approaches them. He lets his chest thrust subtly forward, chin up to show off his collar. 

The man looks him over with wide eyes, then offers John a hand to shake. "Harold Martin."

"John Reese." He smiles. "Pleased to meet you."

"I'll go make coffee," Grace says. "Why don't you two get to know each other better?"

~~

Reese has settled, kneeling, on a pillow beside the couch. Harold's mind works furiously.

Harold Martin would be flustered and uncomfortable, very likely make his excuses and leave shortly. Harold Martin is straight as a ruler and perfectly vanilla, which Harold believed Grace Hendricks would like. It seems he was mistaken on at least one of these factors.

"Are you bisexual?" he asks Reese, lowering his tone on the last word, as if it were something dirty. Still playing Martin, until he can recalibrate.

Reese smiles. It makes him look predatory. "I do what Grace tells me." The chastity device he has on makes it impossible to know whether he's aroused, but he sounds sincere enough.

"And are you happy?" Harold honestly wants to know.

A complicated expression passes over Reese's face. "Sure." He says it lightly. Harold narrows his eyes.

Grace has returned with the promised coffee. One cup for her, one for Harold, and none for Reese, which could mean any number of things. "I was expecting to see your dick in his mouth," she tells Harold. There's a slight hint of challenge to her expression, mulish stubbornness in her shoulders. She took the risk that Harold would recoil from who she is and what she does, and she refuses to show fear. 

It only makes Harold's growing infatuation with her all the stronger. 

Grace ruffles Reese's hair. "Losing your edge, John?"

"Just trying not to spook him," Reese says easily. He raises his eyebrows at Harold, a mute challenge. For all that Reese is on his knees, collared and caged, there's nothing cowed about him.

Harold ignores Reese, looking at Grace. "You're very lenient with him."

She tenses briefly, but Harold was very careful to make that an observation, not a criticism. "He's an old softy," Grace says, rubbing her thumb along Reese's neck until he closes his eyes and leans his head against her thigh, bliss written on his expression. "No need to get too harsh with him."

Reese loves her, and she cares deeply for him: that much is clear. Reese's bearing speaks of a military past. His scars speak of a painful one, and if he's not happy, Harold doubts Reese thinks he could come closer than he is.

All right. The Machine brought Harold this far. He's willing to navigate the rest by feel. "I'll defer to your recommendations," Harold tells Grace, mustering a little blush. Maybe Harold Martin is more willing to experiment than he thought.

Grace looks pleased. "John," she says, and Reese needs no more prompting. He moves forward on his knees, undoes Harold's fly with his teeth and nuzzles Harold's cock out of his boxers with speed and more elegance than Harold would've thought possible.

Reese's cocksucking skills are superb. Harold lets his head tip back, lets himself groan. John's mouth is wet and hot, his tongue deft. Harold struggles to open his eyes and look down on him. Reese's eyes are closed, his cheeks hollowed-out. His hands are clasped behind his back.

"That's about enough," Grace says. Reese pulls back immediately, showing neither distaste at his previous activity or displeasure at having to stop.

Then Grace hikes her skirt up and settles herself over Harold's cock, and that's a bit too much for him to maintain analytical thought.

She guides Harold's hands to her breasts, and is vocal about her enjoyment. 

It takes Harold a few more moments to think of making her climax, being distracted by the scent of her, the gorgeous perfection with which she envelops him. He reaches down for her clitoris to find Reese already at work there, lapping and sucking in a way that coincides with the happy sounds Grace is making.

Seeing that this aspect of lovemaking is well in hand - or, rather, in mouth - Harold turns his attention to kissing her neck and her shoulder, rolling her nipple between thumb and forefinger. Together, he and Reese make short work of her climax. Harold feels he's reasonably entitled to his present satisfaction.

He would, of course, be exponentially more satisfied if he could pursue his own orgasm, though the cage on Reese makes him wonder whether Grace enjoys making her lovers wait. The way she shifts off him as soon as she caught her breath seems to indicate this.

Grace says sweetly, "Finish him for me, would you, John?" and Reese moves forward once again.

Curiosity makes Harold fist his hand in Reese's hair, guiding him gently then downright pushing him on Harold's cock. Reese allows this, taking him down his throat with ease, swallowing around him. It's enough to surprise Harold's orgasm out of him.

It takes him embarrassingly long to get his bearing afterwards. Grace nudges the mug of coffee into Harold's hands. "Drink before it gets cold."

Harold obeys, murmuring thanks. Reese is still kneeling on his pillow, eyes downcast. Harold asks, "Will you let him come?" 

Grace's eyes twinkle. "The cage is staying on for another two days." 

Time for a gear shift. "The two," Harold says carefully, "are not mutually exclusive."

Grace's smile broadens into a beam. "You know, they really aren't."

For the first time that evening, Reese seems caught off guard. That shouldn't be as satisfying as it is.

Grace pats Reese's head. "Hands and knees," she says. "I'll let you eat it out of my hands, if you're good."

Reese complies with alacrity.

~~

John's head spins as he assumes the position. None of Grace's dates have ever taken initiative like this, and John's not sure at all he likes it.

Even so, he wants to be good for Grace, wants it so badly that he doesn't care if that means obeying some guy who looks like an accountant. 

He hears the Hitachi before he sees it, and it makes him shake. He's used it on Grace before, and on a couple of her female dates, so while he's never experienced it he knows how strong the vibrations are.

Fuck, this is probably going to hurt. John lets out an expectant whine.

The first touch of the vibrator is like a kick in the stomach. Grace lets it settle over his balls. John cries out without a thought for dignity, for what Harold might see.

It's excruciatingly good, but also just plain excruciating. John wants desperately to get hard, and can't. He wants to come even more desperately, an urgency he's learned to repress. There's no way anyone can repress with a Hitachi magic wand on their balls, though.

Dimly, John is aware he's shaking. He can't see Grace, and that's starting to freak him out even though she's touching him, speaking to him. There's nothing, nothing but the perfect balance of pleasure and pain, and John is all alone in his head, adrift.

There's a hand on his face, and John looks into a pair of concerned blue eyes.

"Shall I ask her to trade places?" Harold asks in a low voice.

With effort, John shakes his head. If Grace sees his face right now, she'll call the whole thing off. She likes to play things safe, cuddly and fluffy even when John can take more. He doesn't really want her to stop.

Harold stays, keeps touching John, and that helps. He's a connection to reality, to the sure knowledge that Grace is right there, hasn't left him. John can see her reflected in Harold's glasses.

Grace's hand cups him in his cage, and John trembles. "Can you come for me now?" she asks, and John answers with actions, spilling all over her hands. It's the weirdest orgasm he's ever had, amazing and dissatisfying simultaneously. He keeps spurting for a long time.

When finally he's done, Grace shows him her hands, spattered white from his release. "That's it," she says as he licks them, overwhelmed with gratitude for something he can't name. "That's it, you're so good, John, you did just like I said."

He manages to get her hands clean before he has to hide his face against her stomach, overwhelmed. He's not quite crying, but it's close.

~~

Reese is clinging to Grace, eyes shut. He might be asleep. Grace's fingers card through his hair. "Well?" she says.

"He's magnificent," Harold says honestly. "Thank you for sharing him with me."

Her smile now isn't her earlier delight, but something more complex. "You know, I think he likes you." She keeps petting Reese. "He never warms up to people this fast."

Harold can imagine. That one moment, though, Reese looking at him, frightened and all the braver for it.... He wants that again. "I'll be happy to get to know the two of you better."

Grace tosses her head back and laughs. "See," she says once she calms down, "I know what you mean? But it's kind of awesome you think that after you've had a kinky threesome with us."

Harold can't help an answering smile. "You handle him beautifully." He's not sure if that's the compliment he wants to offer, precisely, but he's afraid telling Grace that she handles Reese with compassion and love would sound condescending.

"Thanks." Grace tilts her head. "So, we could do this again some time."

Harold picks his words with care. "Would Mr. Reese be interested in joining us for more, ah, family rated enjoyments?"

Grace's expression goes complicated. "He doesn't really like to leave the house."

That... is none of Harold's business. "A night in, then, perhaps? Boardgames? Or a movie?"

He really likes Grace's smile, loves how quickly and easily it comes out. "That'll be great. He's an excellent cook," she confides.

As Harold leaves, he looks up at a security camera, wondering. The Machine's dossier on Grace had shown him nothing about John Reese. An error? Or, as Harold is beginning to suspect, might the Machine hide information from him on purpose? "I hope you know what you're doing," he murmurs.

His phone beeps. It's an email alert: he can see there are file attachments. 

After several moments of consideration, Harold deletes the message unread.


End file.
